She gaped at him in disbelief. “That is the most inhumane thing I have ever heard!”
He scrubbed his face with his hands. “Diantha, have you ever seen the aftermath of a shipwreck?” She shook her head. “It’s hideous. That poor child is suffering enough. Do you think the sight of her father or her sweetheart after three days in the water will ease her grief?”
His words brought her up short. “I’m sorry, I was stupid.” She grimaced. “I suppose this means you don’t want me there either?”
He placed a hand under her chin and lifted it until she looked into his eyes. They were red-rimmed. “Not stupid. You just didn’t know.” He took a shaky breath. “You have no idea how much I will want you there, sweetheart. But I need you here.”
She did not want to cause a scene, but he was pushing her away once again. “Iona can run the house. Surely there is something I can do to help.”
“There is.” He pulled her into a hard embrace as his lips grazed her hair. The rough wool sweater prickled against her cheek as he took a near-sobbing breath. She wondered why as he spoke. “Look after my mother. And stay here. I need you safe.”
He tilted her head back, fingertips brushing her cheek. Kissing her deeply, as if he wanted to takeher breath with him, he then let her go. With a last look and a shaky breath, he left.
The next morning dragged past. Diantha divided her time between her mother-in-law’s room and the gallery, where Iona sat near the great window at the far end. Barclay disappeared into the estate office.
When he did emerge for luncheon, he spent most of the meal frowning down at his plate. Only the two of them sat in the main dining room, for Iona had retired with a headache. Further, she had ordered that until the household returned to normal, servants need only wait on the family at dinner.
Polite conversation struck her as frivolous under the circumstances, so Diantha too ate in near silence.
She eventually brought up the possibility of preparing a wagon of supplies from the house to send on to Cariford.
Barclay stared at her abstractedly before giving an impatient shake of his head. “Unnecessary. My cousin will send for them if they are required.” With that, he returned to his cold chicken.
His snapped reply nettled her, but she reminded herself that the loss of the fishermen would hit him harder than it had her. Before leaving the dining room, he apologized in his usual quiet manner.
Diantha regarded him sympathetically. “I beg you, not to dwell on it. We must all feel for those poor men and their families.”
He stood looking down at her as though hewanted to say something. With the air of a man making up his mind, he took a deep breath. “I fear Kieran’s involvement in the village is far more personal than mine.”
She cocked her head, confused. “I’m sure it is; he cares greatly for Duncarie and its people.”
With a harsh cry, he gripped her shoulders. “You don’t understand! Kieran has near relatives in Cariford.” He looked at her meaningfully. “Young relatives.”
Feeling faint, she pushed back from him slightly. He released her shoulders at once and helped her to the nearest chair. Pulling another out, he faced her, taking her hands in his.
He closed his eyes, a pained expression on his face. “My dear Diantha, forgive me. To have given you such a shock on top of this disaster is unconscionable.”
Her entire face seemed to have coalesced into stone. Removing her hands from his grasp, she straightened her back. “Tell me.”
Barclay spoke gently. “My cousin takes after his father, not only in how he manages his estate, but in his fondness for women of a certain class.”
Her heart beating painfully, she nodded. “I see.”
He sat back with an expression on his face that she would have described as ludicrous at any other time. “You do?”
Almost violently, he pushed himself to his feet and paced away from her, knuckles pressed against his mouth. “My God, that swine.” Whirling, he faced her again. “I have felt a certain amount of sympathy for you ever since he brought you here. The man has some appetites that hardly bear thinking of, andthat a lady should be subjected to his rutting—it is unconscionable.”
Remembering the lovemaking she and her husband had shared yesterday by the loch, she kept her gaze fixed on her clasped hands. “In other words, it may be for the best that he goes to common women to relieve his more base wants.”
His footsteps halted, and he cleared his throat. “I suppose. I had not thought of it from that perspective.”
Composing her face into a serene mask, Diantha lifted her gaze to him. “Suppose you tell me about his illegitimate children.”
Barclay’s cheeks flushed. “Oh, they aren’t even recognized as that; he’s far too clever. But the resemblance is undeniable! Forgive me for speaking of something so distasteful, but I’ve had the misfortune to come across them more than once. It is why I so seldom visit Cariford.”
It occurred to her that her husband’s cousin rarely visited any of the tenants. “I see. I am sure your sentiments on all that are correct.” She stood up, smoothing her dress. “I gather part of my dowry is going to the support of these unfortunates?”
He flinched. “Your tranquility in the face of such sordid disclosures is a credit to you, madam.”
